


Dejarik

by DarkIsRising



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bottom Qui-Gon Jinn, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, Smut, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkIsRising/pseuds/DarkIsRising
Summary: Prompt: “I’m holding back from bending you over this table, don’t push me.”
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: QuiObi Writing Discord Prompt Fills





	Dejarik

It isn’t so much that Qui-Gon is a bad dejarik player; it just so happens that Obi-Wan is better, and wildly competitive to boot.

In all his time as Qui-Gon’s padawan, there’s never been a set in their room at the Temple, but there was usually one close enough at hand on missions whenever their negotiation efforts came to a standstill. On those occasions Obi-Wan would trounce Qui-Gon rather spectacularly while his master would try to say more and more ludicrous things to keep Obi-Wan distracted.

“Mace has a tail, you know. You should ask to see it one day.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time a padawan decided to reorganize the archives for Master Nu according to data size?”

“I once ate a frog with Master Yoda.”

That last claim wasn’t so out of the realm of possibility, which only made Padawan Obi-Wan question the veracity of the rest.

Now, though, it’s so much worse. Now that he is a knight and frequently sent off with Master Jinn, Obi-Wan has had to deal with a flirtatious Qui-Gon, one that knows the best way to get under his new lover’s concentration is to talk dirty to him.

 **Houjix, move four places.** “Do you know that I wanted to suck you off during the main reception yesterday?” **Grimtaash, move one place.** “Behind one of those ceremonial draperies, during the ten minutes of silent contemplation.” **Ng'ok, move two.** “That way you couldn’t make those little mewing sounds you make without giving us away.”

**Monnok, attack.**

“I do not make mewing sounds,” Obi-Wan says between gritted teeth.

“You do.” **Grimtaash, retreat.** “In fact, I wonder if I could get you to make them now.” **Ng'ok, move two.** “I bet you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back.”

**Monnok, attack.**

“I’m holding myself back from bending you over this table, right now, Jinn. Don’t push me.”

To his credit, Qui-Gon doesn’t say another word, but there’s something to the glimmer of his blue eyes, the twitch of his lips, the tilt of his head that sends his hair spilling over one shoulder.

“Fuck it,” Obi-Wan says, reaching through the holos to grab Qui-Gon by his tunics and haul him across the game that Obi-Wan had been trying so hard to play. “You want to do this? Then let’s do this.”

Unbalanced by his position and the sudden introduction of Obi-Wan’s tongue into his mouth, Qui-Gon doesn’t notice that Obi-Wan is using the Force to slide beneath his belt and unwind his sash until Obi-Wan can call it to his hand. He blinks in surprise but it is too late—he’s bound, hands tied together so that they rest on the checkered game board, and Obi-Wan makes a sound of triumph.

“Cute,” Qui-Gon says, testing the strength of the knots, but Obi-Wan is confident they’ll hold. “What are you doing?” he asks as Obi-Wan removes his own sash and stoops to wind it around the table’s base. 

“Using your height against you,” Obi-Wan says, threading the ends of his sash through Qui-Gon’s bonds so that he is thoroughly trussed across the table. “I’ll teach you not to distract me like that again.” Obi-Wan slides down his pants just enough to release his cock and rubs the wet head against Qui-Gon’s mouth. “Here. Use your tongue for something that’s actually useful.”

Qui-Gon does, licking long stripes across Obi-Wan’s cock and then, when Obi-Wan presses forward, taking him into his throat, and it’s so good he throws his head back, crying out. At the last minute he tries to quiet himself and the resulting sound makes Qui-Gon laugh, something that he can feel travel through his body.

“Don’t say it,” he cautions and Qui-Gon quirks an eyebrow, lips still stretched around Obi-Wan’s hardness. Annoyed, Obi-Wan pulls himself out and Qui-Gon releases him with a wet smacking sound. He stalks to the other side of the table, pulling Qui-Gon’s tunics up and his pants down, and mutters to himself: “Let’s see what kind of noises you make,” before pressing himself inside Qui-Gon with no preparation and only his own saliva to slick the way. It’s a burning chaff, but it’s worth it for the way Qui-Gon strains against his bindings, arching up and moaning.

Reaching to loop Qui-Gon’s hair around his fist, Obi-Wan pulls his neck up so that he is taut, his throat clicking with half-formed words. Obi-Wan fucks him until he comes—deep inside Qui-Gon—and then stays there, moving in small circles until he’s hard enough to fuck him again. It’s easier this time, his own come making Qui-Gon slick, and the sounds that he gets out of Qui-Gon are deep and addictive. When he finally pulls out, Qui-Gon shudders and Obi-Wan can see where he’s splattered his release across the table. The holo monsters still wait exactly where they’d been left, and they look like they are standing in hazy formation along Qui-Gon’s broad back. 

“Sorry about your game,” Qui-Gon says, when he can speak again, still tied immobile.

“That’s alright,” Obi-Wan says, slapping a hand across his ass and watching as the skin pinkens. “I wasn’t winning, anyway.”


End file.
